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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544416">Vanilla Milk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Self_shippy_J/pseuds/Self_shippy_J'>Self_shippy_J</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, I will warn yall at the beginning of a chapter, Illager, M/M, Minecraft, Original Characters - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Pillager, Romance, Yes this is cringey yes i am so so sorry, also! there is some triggering stuff eventually in the fic! but it would give away the plot!, anyways on with tags that arent me rambling, but minecraft worldbuilding, forgot to say that before, if it contains triggering material, kinda? because I really made this up, villager - Freeform, welcome to my minecraft romance novel everyone I hope you enjoy the fucking ride</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:07:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Self_shippy_J/pseuds/Self_shippy_J</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma is a human girl helping to protect a rural village with her team, and she finds something in the woods when she gets lost one night. It will change the course of her entire life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>OC/OC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is my first fanfiction. Introductory chapter here. This whole thing is written entirely for my own pleasure, but if you like it, then that makes me really happy too! I don't really know much about writing other than for academic purposes and do not regularly write creative works, so critique is welcome (especially concerning punctuation!)</p><p>Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy the story!</p><p>P.S. The formatting was better in google docs haaaaaa sorry</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life is best exemplified by the game of chess. The various pieces perform unique actions, and any two pieces are evenly matched, equal opponents in precarious plays. No one piece is so powerful that it is incapable of being captured at a moment’s notice, and the skillset of every piece is critically important to the game as a whole. It is difficult to learn, and matches can be long and arduous, but when the right combination is reached, when the pieces are settled in exactly the correct position for a swift strike, the win is exhilarating, and the sense of accomplishment accompanying that win is thoroughly satisfying. Emma, however, was losing their game terrifically.</p><p>“You’re shittin’ me! Did I not see that coming because I wasn’t paying enough attention, or did you have me caught no matter how I attacked that?” She threw her hand up above her head in disbelief at Thomasin’s sudden win, laughing at her own defeat. Games with Thomasin were always a treat, as she wouldn’t play often, but when she did, she gave good tips, even if you were certain to lose to her. She was always like that, really. Distant and warm. Rarely was she available due to her high-up, very demanding position as stronghold leader, and Emma was grateful for every moment she was lucky enough to get to spend with the old woman, who was currently sat across from her in a cushioned wicker chair. She was from the before-time, when the technology of respawn was in its infancy and not widely-used nor well-tested, and when someone died, they died for good. Her scars were ill-hidden, and she chose to freely wear them, even pinning up her coarse, wiry gray hair and allowing the old wounds on her upper body and neck to show full-faced. She wore them proudly, and they told, by themselves, the violent and harrowing tales of times long since past. Even with her confidence and pride in them, no one wished to or dared to bring attention to them or the memories associated with them. They still carried their pain.</p><p>“Should have moved the rook, honey!” Thomasin chuckled as she scraped up the last of her eggs. Aaron had cooked a good, hardy breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast for everyone that morning, and when Aaron cooked, everybody lined up to get a plate. Sometimes even two, if they knew they would be working particularly hard that day. Emma always tried to eat hers before it got cold, because, of course, it always tastes better fresh and hot, but mostly she did it so as to not put all his hard work and generosity to waste. Scarfing down a big hunk of egg, she set her plate down on the coffee table and reset the chess board, scooting over on the red leather couch to make adequate playing room for Ferra, who had sat beside her last round to first encourage her and then laugh with her at the overwhelming defeat. </p><p>“Hey, think you got one more in you Thomasin? You know I’m no good, so it’ll probably be even quicker than when you beat Emma, <em> if </em> that’s possible.” She elbowed Emma playfully and was met with a light slap on the knee as they both giggled. Well, it <em> was </em> the truth! Emma just shook her head and smiled as she grabbed her plate back up and ate what was left, relaxing against her friend and kicking back to watch the next game. Ferra was outgoing, with a bright and fiery personality mirroring her dyed-red hair, and possessed a strong sense of humor that left her easily amused and in a near-constant good mood. An easily approachable and extroverted girl around her age, she and Emma had become fast friends with the latter’s arrival to the base, introducing her into the stronghold family and their way of life. Ferra’s presence had made the transition from a civilian perspective much less jarring, as she exuded an almost carefree energy; this marked a stark contrast to their work environment, which maintained an aura of dead seriousness, and whose members often abided by very strict protocols and regimens. They were stuck to each other’s sides like candy dropped in sand. </p><p>While Ferra bounced with excitement on the cushions, Thomasin downed the last dregs of her coffee, the dishes clanking as she set them down on the table. “Alright, kiddo, but <em> just </em> this last one. Then Mama Tommy’s gotta go take care of some bureaucratic paperwork crap, ‘kay?” Constant updates needed to be provided by stronghold leaders in order to secure continued funding and a reliable pool of resources, including infrastructure and technological upgrades to battle equipment and life systems. Their most recent venture was trying to get the higher-ups to approve resource allocation to replace some lights and underground cables on their main paths, which had recently gone dark after a failure on one of the lines. She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she prodded forward her first pawn, “Those fuckers have been giving me a real damn headache lately; I’ve got to give them a full report on a reason for needing anything bigger than a light bulb filament, I swear. Don’t move your bishop. Look there, you won’t get one of my pieces if you move the knight, but you’ll be in a better spot to block me in the long run.” While the two went about talking strategies, Emma had finished her meal. Balancing her plate on her knees while she sat up straight, she lifted her arms high above her head, her hands balled into fists in the air as her muscles strained and she got in that good morning stretch. Today would be fairly easy work; she was just grabbing some stuff to sell in the village market and posting guard for a few hours, then going home to her camp for the work week. She piled the dishes on the coffee table together and stood up to take them to be washed. “Thank you, dear,” Thomasin said, nodding to her with a kind smile before turning her attention back to the scattered pieces on the board.</p><p>“No problem! Hey Ferra, I’m getting ready to leave in a few minutes. Tell me when you’re done with your game and we’ll go!” Ferra gave her a thumbs-up without looking back to her, dead-focused on her next move. Emma chuckled, turning into the kitchen and placing everything beside the sink. Aaron was still there, cleaning the stovetop and drying the pans. As she rolled up her sleeves to get to work, she addressed him: “Hey, Aaron, thanks so much again for breakfast. I can clean up from here if you want to take a break.” </p><p>He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as if a weight was lifted from him, and he wiped some sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Oh, thank you <em> so </em> much. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot of work on the surface, but it just takes something out of me!” The kitchen wasn’t very big, with room just enough for two or three people to be doing things at once, but Aaron was, to say the least, a bit of a clean freak, which brought a lot of self-imposed responsibility to him. She worried that he overworked himself, constantly striving for perfection. To his credit, she had never seen the kitchen or any other shared room in the house dirty or even so much as cluttered. It meant a lot to him to have a clean space. He let down his braids and ruffled his hair to relieve his head of the tension from the tight bun he’d had it pinned up in. “Holler if you need anything, though. I’ll be in my room for a little bit and then I’m gonna sleep. You know how the night watch can be.” He winked and they shared a smile, knowing full well that they would be sharing the graveyard shift. It was their turn after all, and as much as everyone hated it, it was a job that couldn’t be done by the golems alone. They were strong, but lacked the observance of human guards. And so, Aaron bid her adieu and strolled out. </p><p>Emma dove her hands into the soapy, warm water in the sink and began scrubbing away methodically. There was something soothing about simple domestic chores. She could see why it might appeal to Aaron; it was a good way to ground yourself when you were, say, having a panic attack, or when you needed to just go away from other people and calm down. Repetitive, procedural, safe. About halfway through her work, Ah Kum strolled by, and almost apologetically set their plate in with the other dishes, “Would you mind washing one more? I’m a little pressed for time. I’m getting to see my family back in Pearwood Creek for a week, and Kai is coming with. We’re leaving in about an hour and I still need to pack.” </p><p>Emma nodded, gently taking the dish from them. “Well, it’s about time she’s meeting the folks, huh?” Kai and Ah Kum had been dating since just before her arrival at the base, but to her knowledge, they’d never brought her with them when going home before. “And wait, you still haven’t packed? Heck is wrong with you? Is this like a last-second trip?” They hesitated a moment, raising their hands in front of them, preparing to gesture a grand story while telling her the excuse, their eyes turned to the ceiling as if thinking, perhaps of a semi-believable half-truth, although from their body language, she almost certainly could tell the true reason.</p><p>As if admitting defeat, they sighed and released the tension in their shoulders and arms; “I’m just nervous. I’m worried about my parents - you know how they are!” She had heard them talk about their parents many a time, of their great relationship, with Ah Kum as their only living child who they poured all of their love and approval into. However, they could be strict, and had very specific ideas of how their future should play out, as if they were their puppeteers - especially their mother. They clasped their hands together in front of their mouth, a slight frown showing through when they spoke, “I just love them so much, and I know they only expect so much of me because they love me, too, but if they disapprove of Kai...I don’t want to ruin my relationship with my family <em> or </em> with her. I don’t want to have to choose, and - I don’t know. It’s fine. It’ll probably be fine.” They smoothed back their hair, breathed and sighed again, finally realizing the full weight of their thoughts, then came back to reality, suddenly aware that Emma was still in front of them, listening. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t really need to hear all that.” They almost seemed embarrassed, feeling like they’d over explained.</p><p>She had since been turned to them, pausing her cleaning entirely. “Ah Kum,” she rinsed off her forearms and hands and quickly dried them with the dish towel, “You needed to say it out loud. And you’re right: everything is going to be alright, okay? You’ve got this.” She placed her hand on their shoulder, giving them two solid, friendly pats, then shook them lightly; “Now go get packin’!” They nodded and thanked her, meeting Kai in the hall where the two of them shared a kiss before walking back to their rooms to get their things ready to go. <em> How sweet </em>, she thought as they went out of view.</p><p>Finally, with the dishes done and the daylight ticking away, she walked briskly to snatch the leather rucksack off the post of her bedframe. As she threaded her arm through the first strap, she saw Ferra at the end of the hallway, looking down at the floor blankly. “Hey girlie, ready to - woah, hey, whatcha looking all mopey for, huh?” She looked like someone had just told her some bad news, with her head hung forward slightly. Emma was alarmed, leaning down to look up at and search her face with a concerned look. Ferra slowly brought up her head, her nostrils flaring as she took a deep breath.</p><p>“<em> I almost fucking won. </em> ” Her eyes widened while she spoke, her hands coming up beside her head in frustration. Emma placed her hand over her heart as she breathed a sigh of relief and laughed heartily. “I did! I really did! I was <em> so </em> about to get her and she just - she got me <em> right </em> before I was able to make the move and - ahhh!” She clutched her hair and tousled it, smoothing it back after giggling.</p><p>“Dude you can <em> not </em> scare me like that! I thought you got possessed!” Emma wiped away a tear of laughter and recollected herself. “Oh man...anyways, ready to head out? Cherrie is probably chewing on the fence waiting to be fed.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>They raced each other down the stone stairs, beautifully carved out of the side of the mountain, with little patches of moss covering them in some parts. From the lip of the stronghold, so high up on the mountain, snow rested lightly upon the porous brick, crunching crisply beneath their footsteps. Few things could grow so high up, other than short, dry grasses and shrubs. As they descended, plants lined the edges of the path; trees of all types appeared, full of songbirds like colorful moving gems in a crown of bright green leaves, while squirrels pranced along the top of the earthy walkway, which bore various flora from tall grasses and ferns to luscious azalea, rose, and peony bushes, adorned with flowers fluttering in the breeze, thin and delicate as tissue paper. The clouds danced around the sun, careful to not obstruct its light, allowing its shine to beam down upon the verdant land. Emma slowed her pace, then came to a stop at a particular notch in the grassy, crumbling wall, breathing in the fresh spring air deeply as she took in the scenery. The landscape came alive as the winter faded, with new growth introducing pretty yellow-green buds on every plant in sight. It was her favorite season. How she wished that spring was eternal.</p><p>Meanwhile, Ferra was still tearing down the stairs. “Come on, you don’t want to win <em> one </em> time?!” She bounced to a halt and slowly, with faux melodrama complete with an audible, exaggerated “Ugh...”, began climbing back up the stone steps toward her friend. Perhaps it would never get old, passing Emma at this spot, then always having to turn around to come back up and enjoy the view for a few minutes. Even in the winter, when the tree tops were barren and the gnarled, black branches showing like talons jutting sharply out of the snow which blanketed the land, she always, always stopped here. Ferra knew why. She sighed, throwing her arm around her friend, and softly spoke, “So, what would she write to you on a day like this?”</p><p>Emma thought for a moment, recollecting the daily letters she received from her mother as a child. “I think she would start with the dawn. She woke up really early every day to come see it, and sometimes she would send a picture of that, like, golden morning sunlight on the treetops. And she’d say ‘Good morning, Honey! The sunrise might be beautiful, but <em> you </em> are my sunshine!’ and, you know, things you say to kids to make them feel special. Then she might talk about her day like, ‘Oh we battled some idiots trying to steal a cow’, ‘I’m planting a cactus and giving it a little hat’, ‘your father got knocked over by one of the sheep again’.” They both snickered at the increasing silliness of these scenarios, especially since they had experienced such situations themselves while they were stationed out here. “But, mostly, she’d talk about the flowers. She’d send them pressed sometimes, too. I bet she got them off of these bushes, right here,” She mused as she reached into the leafy brush, her hand coming away with a bright pink peony she’d snapped from the plant. She held it gently in front of her face as she turned, signaling it was time for them to start heading back down to continue their short journey. The flower was dropped to the ground in a pile of petals to become one with the surrounding detritus.</p><p>After a few minutes of walking, they finally came upon the edge of the woods. As they trekked through the dark canopy, they made smalltalk of funny stories and news from the last few days, wet leaves slippery under their shoes. A fork in the path appeared, and, approaching it, they began to separate. Three paths presented themselves, with Emma’s camp to the right, Ferra’s camp to the left, and the main straight path continuing on to the nearby Red Oak village, probably a mile and a half’s walk from this point. “Okay, see you in a few!” Ferra cheerfully said as she waved and strolled down the beaten, stone-laden path to her smithing camp. </p><p>“Bye!” Emma picked up the pace as she trotted toward her destination. The winding path guided her around several large trees, hanging over the road as if protecting her from the sunlight above, providing an almost chilly shade. Johnny-jump-ups grabbed at her jeans as she rushed by, their new sprouts eager to spread their little green seed pods out to ground where more luscious green grass could one day grow. Her excitement rose as she drew nearer. She trampled through mud, dust, and the old, nearly-rotten boards that sunk down at the lightest pressure as she traversed the small bridge overlooking the serene river which flowed gently below. Its crystalline waters led to a short cliff face where they ended their journey as a roaring waterfall into a fishing pond about a mile out. She didn’t visit it often, except to see her father.</p><p>Rounding one last large Southern Oak, she reached a trampled grass path which opened out into a clearing. Within was a camp, containing rudimentary structures built with cheap reclaimed wood; mostly she used such constructions as shelter from rain or blistering sun as she worked, for she did not want to conduct experiments, especially not the ones involving open flames, in the round, cozy canvas tent in which she often slept, tucked away inside a comfy down bedroll. Across from the entrance stood an animal pen, its old, knobbly wooden fence posts loosely held together into a vague resemblance of a corral, and within that was a shack with a hay floor that looked like what could only be described as an oversized dog house. Beside this was another enclosure of wooden frames lined with chicken wire: her chicken coop. In these early hours of the morning, the hens had only just begun to rise, feathers shuffling to life as they stretched their wings and clucked at each other. On her way to the animals, she passed several gardens with flowers, grasses, and bushes of varying sizes, colors, and purposes, all kept neat and tidy; they were clearly well-taken-care-of with rows upon rows of vegetation, in growth stages anywhere from old, pruned stems to bright green sprouts. From them she could derive her work, each unique plant producing some compound or another that could be turned into potions with a vast array of effects. This was her alchemical wonderland. Next to the gardens, a canvas tied tight over several wooden poles sheltered her workspace, cluttered with glass bottles full of samples, experiments, full potions for selling, and most importantly, the large and complicated brewing contraption, with an unfinished titration currently sitting forgotten at the base of the leftmost system. She hadn’t nailed down every recipe yet; a basin sat near the edge of the property containing the remnants of experiments which were still works in progress. The stew had been festering for the last few weeks as she neglected to empty it. It was just a job she despised doing. Today would be no different as she blissfully ignored its presence, sauntering over to her dear and beloved cream-colored llama, just awoken from her slumber in the shack, and who bore bright, pastel pink garb, decorated with specks of blue, yellow, and green. The decorative beads on the animal’s dress clattered delightfully as she shook her head, excited to see her human companion. Emma scratched her head and ears gently, “Now, who is happy to see me? I think it’s you!” she exclaimed, rubbing her forehead against the llama’s. Reaching down, she grabbed ahold of the straps on a medium-sized bale of hay, hauling it over the fence. It thumped down in the grass in front of Cherrie, who happily nibbled at the straw. That should last her at least a few days. </p><p>Wiping her hands on her pants, Emma made her way to her living space, throwing down her bag and scooping up a sack of chicken feed. As she fed and watered the chickens and cleaned the coop, she collected a few eggs and cleaned them off at the groundwater tap bordering the two animal pens. She always allowed it to trickle somewhat so that her animals would have a constant source of clean, fresh water, but it left the ground beneath moist and swampy. Any broken eggs she threw for the chickens to eat, along with plenty of grain and sprouted grass seeds. The rest were packed into egg cartons to be sold to the cafe in the village; they preferred her eggs specifically, always running egg dish specials when they got her small-batch shipments. She couldn’t have ever brought them more than 150 eggs in a week at most, but they always reliably purchased from her and were so sweet to her. She really loved them. After replacing the feed bag in the storage area, she moved on to the gardens, pulling on her work gloves. Weeding the garden was a lot like hunting; she would find the little invaders and dig them up gleefully, crushing the stems as she held them up for a split second, basking in the glory of her prize with all the pride of a big-game hunter who had just bagged a moose, then tossing them unceremoniously into the bucket next to her. These would become compost; they were entirely unsuitable as chicken feed, except for the dandelion plants, but she didn’t feel like going back through and picking them out. She snipped some herbs, picking the tender sprouts at the top of each and every basil plant, clipping many stems of rosemary and trimming the bed of chives. Following those were many cut of sprigs of time, plenty of freshly picked oregano leaves and whole heads of garlic pulled up out of the ground with dirty, hanging roots. All would be washed, but for now, were thrown into a large pouch on her hip, bundled together with rough twine so they would remain organized. She wished she had invested in peppercorns, but that would have to wait until she could purchase a sapling from a nursery in the city; for now, the bay leaf tree would do. The dried leaves hung from the tent above the bags of chicken feed and spices. She tossed her gloves back to the shelf. Of course, one fell back onto the ground and she begrudgingly picked it back up. Her back was already hurting from the small amount of work she had done today. Going back out to the spigot, she squatted and gently rinsed off the herbs, her lower back screaming at her to take a break. Finally, she rushed back to the tent where she flopped down onto a cushion, sweat and dirt and all, taking a breather for just a moment before getting to work towel-drying the herbs as best as she could, taking care not to strip the leaves from the stems as she blotted them as best as she could with the dry towel to soak up the water still clinging to the fresh leaves. Some would need to be bundled, hung, and air-dried, but many could be sold fresh; she would take a mixture of both to market today. Tying the garlic was her last task before she decided to finally quit for a little while and rest. She relaxed her body entirely on the cushion, her head sinking into the soft void as her work sat completed beside her. All she had left to do was collect her homemade pressed paper and collect some alchemical supplies from her work station. She glanced at her watch. Ferra wouldn’t be coming to meet her for another hour and a half, so today she would have time for a short nap. She would unpack her bag later, when she came home from the village for the night. The timer was set, and her eyelids fell as she dozed off peacefully.</p><p> </p><p>She drifted awake, eyelids fluttering as consciousness slowly trickled back to her. A “beep-beep!” emanated from the little device on her wrist. She’d slept a touch longer than she’d expected to, and although she tried to unpack some of her things for the week, there simply wasn’t enough time at the moment, and she would have to do it when she got back late that night; however, she was glad she’d gotten everything tossed out of the satchel, because she realized that she had forgotten to bring a significant portion of new alchemical ingredients she had wished to experiment with this week. <em> Well then, I’ll just double back to base first after guard, </em> she thought. Due to her oversleeping, she had to rush herself to gather the paper and glass bottles, packing that and her eggs, herbs and spices all into canvas bags on either side of Cherrie. The llama was raring to go; she always received little treats from the playful villager children. Tying the lead on the hook of Cherrie’s robes and giving it a light tug to make sure it was attached, Emma coaxed the animal out of the pen and pinned it shut behind them.</p><p>Cherrie trotted excitedly down the familiar path as per their routine, hooves stamping in the grass and gravelly soil, and clacking across the old bridge. For a moment they stopped at the riverbank, with Emma keeping watch while the animal took a drink from the clear stream. Emma wondered how many times they had done this now; it had been almost a year since she had been gifted the llama while she was just a cria, and she had raised her on the mountainside and out in these woods. Even back when she couldn’t use her as a pack animal, she would shave her and use the fiber for beautiful blonde yarns to be woven into warm winter weight clothing, and even craft the hair into paint brushes. Now that she had gained some weight and strength, she proved to be an excellent hand for transporting goods, while remaining a faithful companion to Emma, who loved her dearly, almost treating her as if she were her own child at times. They started up again and treaded peacefully until they reached the same clearing with the 3-pronged path. Ferra hadn’t yet arrived, so she sat on a bench for a while and fed carrot bits to Cherrie while she waited on her friend. And she was so worried <em> she </em> would be the one to be late!</p><p>“Hey knuckleheads! Miss me?” Ferra could be heard before she could be seen; she sauntered up the path, her hiker’s backpack clanking, repurposed to hold handmade, high-quality metal tools, hanging heavily from the sides. She was a smith, her camp littered with metal scrap and wood, but alongside the heavy machinery, grindstones and cutting tools, she also worked on a very small scale to craft delicate trinkets, from watches to music boxes and jewelry. They were packed in copious amounts of cotton, newspaper and bubble wrap to keep them from being crushed by her other work weighing down the bag. They swung as she came up to meet them. “Hey there, Cher,” she cooed to the llama; with Emma and Ferra being thick as thieves, Ferra was one of the only other people Cherrie trusted and loved. Taking a deep breath and stretching up straight, she smiled and asked, “So, are you ready to head up? Prime time for the market!”</p><p>Hands on her knees, Emma hoisted herself up. “You betcha. Anything new this week? I know the tools sell like sweets, but you know. Cool custom orders or inventions or...?” They started down the third, straight path. With another mile-and-some’s walk ahead of them, this was the best time for some chit chat, and Ferra always had something interesting going on in the works. Emma wished she could create such fascinating items; her thing was more harvesting plants and tediously tinkering with alchemical formulas, whose effects were profound and sought-after but were not nearly as long-lasting and beautiful as the delicate metal filigree her friend slaved away making.</p><p>“Well,” Ferra looked to the canopy, finger rising to her lips in thought for a moment, her footsteps filling in the silence, before exclaiming, “Oh! Oh, Emma, it’s so cute: I’ve got one engagement ring for a man who’s gonna propose to his boyfriend and he provided me the most gorgeous lapis stone to cut for it. It’s set in gold and it’s got some tiny little diamonds all around it - I would show it to you now, but I can’t really get to it. It’s in a case in the bag.” She whipped her head around to look up and back to the top of her pack, as if to see if there was a way she could reach in and grab it, which was, of course, ridiculous considering the way its opening towered above her. “Here, remind me as soon as we get there and I’ll give it to him first thing. You can see it then!” The bubbly girl snapped her fingers repeatedly in excitement, having remembered the object and its importance to someone far beyond her. It was truly amazing how she could impact someone she might never even meet - all because of her art. Emma wondered how many people had made use of her potions without her realizing, and as wondrous as the fleeting notion was, the harrowing thought dawned upon her that they could potentially be used for ill gains as well as good. It unsettled her greatly.</p><p>Shaking off the thought, she replied cheerfully, “Aww, I definitely want to see it but that’s so sweet! Maybe we’ll catch him proposing. I’d love to see that.” <em> I’d love to be that, </em> she thought, wistful. Sure, she had been in good relationships that mostly ended well, and maybe casual nights with her current boytoy were fun, but she yearned for something more fulfilling. Something stable and long-lasting appealed to her more and more as she grew older, with short flings becoming less frequent and far less satisfying. Not only that, but being so isolated from the city, she had few options as far as potential partners and didn’t have her eyes set on anyone. It wasn’t miserable, but unsatisfying. She’d saved up plenty of leave; maybe she’d go on a vacation soon. </p><p> </p><p>Popping out of the forest, they reached the grassy edge of the village, the entrance road bordering the lumberyard and water treatment facility. It wasn’t as much of a village as much as it had become a town, complete with electricity and plumbing. Most people had radios and the newspaper was even delivered out this far, but technology such as televisions and phones were rare here. Most of the population worked nearly every day, but there was still some limited leisure time to enjoy nature and shop at the market and other small stores. They said their “hello”s to the lumberjacks as they passed through the threshold of the tree line, with Ferra eager to sell them some of her axes, as theirs had become quite old and worn. After a few sales, the two continued on, making their way to the bustling market, abuzz with conversations and laughter, the smells of fresh bread and street food drifting through. It felt magical. Taking cover from the harsh sun under the tent, Emma led Cherrie along, weaving through the people who marveled at the pretty little llama, the children feeding her bits of sweet potato and celery and all manner of treats as the group chatted with merchants, noting what goods they might later like to purchase as they passed by the stalls. </p><p>Emma strolled up to the stall of a cartographer and bookbinder couple, to whom she routinely sold paper. They chatted to her for a moment about life, business, how the village was faring in general, and she accepted their payment of a few nice shards of emerald along with some empty books and quills she could use to write. She turned away from the stall to see Ferra down the way, and, suddenly remembering their conversation earlier, said as she crossed  the path,  “Oh, hey, Ferra, the ring? See the guy anywhere?” This caught her friend’s attention, but she was mid-sale, and motioned to her that it would be a moment. </p><p>Ferra finished up the transaction, “Alright, now what was that?”</p><p>“The proposal ring you wanted me to see? Was wondering if you saw the guy around.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, yeah, that! I had to open my bag anyways,” she motioned to the pack, then turned to rummage around in it with one arm, “Aaand here! Ta-fucking-da, right?” she presented to Emma the little box, who opened it gently, aware of the delicate nature of the item within. It was gorgeous - the metal of the ring was gold, which seemed unusual for an engagement ring, but perhaps it was to complement the large, heart-shaped lapis stone within, speckled with gold flakes as if they were stars in a dark blue night sky. Surrounding the heart shape was gold filigree dotted with diamond studs, framing the stone as if it were the center of the universe. </p><p><em> How wonderful to be thought of as such </em>. She delicately closed the hinged box and handed it back to Ferra.</p><p>“I’m gonna head out to find the fella. Cafe Diem for lunch?” </p><p>Emma nodded and smiled. “Funny, was just about to go there to give ‘em their eggs and stuff. But, remember, elder’s gotta be visited by 12:30, and it’s almost 12 now. Rowan first, then grub, ‘kay?” They had to check in weekly with the village leader, Rowan the Elder, and his son, Hudson, a now-grown adult who worked as a cartographer, who was to be the next in line should anything happen to him. They would convene with members of the stronghold and discuss any changes that might need to be made to the security routine, and the village council generally informed them of the needs and future plans of the village. </p><p>“Oh yeah that’s kind of important, right? Well, I’m gonna go and sell some stuff. Meetcha later!” </p><p> </p><p>Emma strolled through town on the cobblestone roads with Cherrie, whose hooves clinked as they met the surface of the smooth rocks. She reached the cafe, a white colonial-style building with a beautiful landing for guests to dine on. Tying Cherrie to a fence post near some violets, which the llama would probably munch on while she was busy inside, she called over to her friend, Needi, who wiped her hands on her waiter’s apron as she came down to meet her. “Emma! I’m so happy to see you, how are you my dear?” They hugged tightly. </p><p>“The usual, just takin’ care of some plants and messing up magic potions, you know?” She giggled, remembering last week when she’d come to see Needi; she’d been covered in powder after an experiment blew up right in her face! “How about you, hon?” She handed the girl a carton of eggs, still bringing more out of the pack.</p><p>“Aching to get out of here and see the city!” She accepted as many cartons as she could carry before Emma slung a bundle of tied, assorted herbs over her own shoulder.</p><p>“I promise you girlie, next time I go I’m takin’ you with me!” She held out her little finger and they pinky promised on it. Needi had been talking forever about getting out and seeing the world. She had been cooped up in this small village her whole life with all the same people; new people didn’t move in often, especially not anyone her age. Like Emma, she ached to find some semblance of a loving relationship, and she knew that out of all the people in the whole world, there was no chance her soulmate rested in this one teeny tiny town in the middle of bum-fuck Egypt. </p><p>“Alrighty, alrighty, Ma is inside. She’s gonna be so happy to get in the eggs especially! Yours are the best.”</p><p>“Aww, I think y’all are just being nice, but thank you! No one I’d rather give ‘em to.” They scampered up the stairs and onto the cafe floor, where Needi’s mother was cooking furiously behind a counter, servers rushing to grab plates off the metal pass-through shelf in the serving window and deliver them to customers in the busy shop. Emma called to her over the noisy shuffling, “Hey, miss Catherine!”</p><p>Miss Catherine, wet strands of hair sticking to her forehead and face, grinned and looked up to see the girls as they came past the serving area and into the kitchen. “Well hello there, Emma!” She set one of the other cooks onto the line to take care of her things while she took a short break to greet and talk to the girls, wiping her hands on a rag towel and tossing it aside into a bin with others. She patted Emma on the back, “Am I glad to see you! We’ve-” An empty pot clanged to the floor as a ripping hot pan sizzled with cooking meat, and the already noisy kitchen’s volume raised even more with the commotion. Catherine raised her voice. “WE’VE BEEN WAITING TO GET SOME OF THE GOOD STUFF FROM YA! HEY, HOW ABOUT WE GO TO STORAGE TO TALK?”, she said as she gently pushed people aside through the busy kitchen traffic, clearing a path for the girls to follow her. </p><p>The cafe was probably the second-largest food business in town, about 30 staff strong altogether, mostly consisting of apprentices hoping to earn a little extra money in between their hours of training. That, and they got a free meal every day. To Emma, it would be a dream to work full-time at a beautiful little spot like this.</p><p>They entered the temperature-controlled storage closet, a cool but not cold wave of air blasting in their faces as the door swung open. “Will you walk into my parlor?” Catherine joked as she shut the door. “Ah, but really, how are you sweetie?” She patted Emma’s face and listened to her cheerful response as she relieved Needi of her armfuls of goods to be put on the shelf. “Well, that’s very nice to hear! And look at what wonderful goodies you’ve brought me today! These look great,” she commented as she looked through the cartons to ensure that none were broken or leaking. “Wow, lots more than normal. You get more chickens or something?”</p><p>“Nah, they just had a good week. Plus, I had the weekend this time to collect.” She hauled the herbs and spices bundled together off her shoulders. It thwacked on the table. “This is where the real magic is. I’m planning on getting some lemongrass soon, but I’ve got this for you for now.” Emma beckoned Needi over and together they began untying the separate, smaller bundles so that they could be organized later. Catherine was delighted upon seeing the bouquet of seasonings; she enjoyed receiving these the most. She picked up a few ties of garlic and basil and went to organize them on their respective shelves.</p><p>“So,” Needi started, to Emma, “Would you like anything today?” Emma had consistently refused payment in Emerald shards. She felt bad about it somehow, as if she was taking money away from them, even though she was giving back plenty. Instead, she chose to have it as a kind of meal credit that she could use at any time. </p><p>She thought for a moment, then looked up to steal a glance at a clock, of which there was none. After shooting looks all around the room, she suddenly remembered her watch. <em> Duh. </em> “Hm. Two chicken salad sandwich meals, but not right now.” She winked at them. “Ferra and I gotta go see Rowan in a few, but we’ll double back later. Speaking of which,” she mumbled the last half-sentence as she quickly undid the last knot, “I’ve gotta run now. See y’all soon!”</p><p> </p><p>Ferra stood outside the cafe waiting for her. She was half leaned over, petting Cherrie and cooing to her like she would to a baby while nuzzling her face; the llama looked unamused but not totally unhappy with all the attention. She noticed Emma as she shuffled down the stairs as fast as she could. “Ooooooh, runnin’ late, runnin’ late!” She cackled while Emma, frazzled, shot her a fake-dirty look and desperately tried to unhook the lead from the fencepost outside the cafe garden. “Dude, hey, I’m <em> kidding </em>, we got like 5 minutes,” She reassured after the rope came undone and Emma started to fast-walk in the direction of the town hall “and what’s the worst that can happen, he’s a little grumpy for about 2 seconds? Chill, anxiety-be-gone, okay?” Ferra jogged alongside for a second to catch up, a distinct lack of metal clinking in her pack as most, if not all, of her goods had been sold. Instead came a little chiming of emerald shards sliding over each other in a small side-satchel on her belt.</p><p>“I’m calm, we’re good. Just a people pleaser sometimes, you know? Don’t like making people upset if I can help it.” She smoothed back her hair, the rope threads catching a fine blonde-pink strand or two on the way and pulling them free, a sting in her scalp accompanying them. “Ow....Nice haul, by the way,” she congratulated her friend. “Found the ringman I assume. How did he like it?”</p><p>Ferra was quiet for a moment. The busy market was so loud, Emma thought she might not have heard her question. As she turned back to ask again, her friend spoke: “Oh, um. He said it was really pretty and told me how much he loved it and stuff but uh.” She gazed sadly upon the cobblestone pavement, kicking a stray pebble up the path. “They broke it off, actually.” Emma turned to her, wide-eyed and mouth half-open in disbelief. Ferra clarified, “Well, I mean, kind of, at least. Like, they were talking about marriage and stuff and apparently the boyfriend didn’t want to do that for a while yet and they want to work it out…” She shook her head as if shaking mud off of her hair. “Im sorry, it’s not my business - I shouldn’t be saying anything. But yeah, he liked the ring.” She gave a single nervous laugh at the last sentence. They shared a knowing glance, both almost grieving in a way over the sad situation. Although it had nothing to do with either of them and it was entirely out of their control, in the end, it was a moment that had briefly touched the both of them, and the unfortunate outcome affected them in a very real, tangible way that left its mark on both of their hearts. It was a loss.</p><p>Emma put her hand on her friend’s shoulder, shaking her slightly in a playful way. “As much as I’m really sorry to hear that, I know how to make you feel better.”</p><p>“Hmph. How?”</p><p>“<em> I’ll race ya.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Of course, she lost, as she always did when going head to head with Ferra. Her physical ability was, to say the least, diminished on account of her back. It was not a great barrier to her often, but occasionally it slowed her work, and the only thing it ever really made her lose was simple running matches with Ferra, who currently wore the most shit-eating grin as she beamed proudly in front of the doors of the town hall. “You were right! I feel great! You know me so well,” she teased while Emma stumbled forward at the last stretch, hobbling and out of breath. Ferra slung her arm over her friend, who was doubled over, and hugged her close. “Look at that, you got it champ! Seriously though, doing okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.” She gasped for air a bit between words, catching her breath and recovering, before turning to her and laughing. “I was not made for endurance!” She stretched up straight and cracked her shoulder before once again looping Cherrie’s lead on a fence post. The llama was doing perfectly fine; running didn’t seem to phase her. “Man, you’re just getting pulled all around today, huh, honey?” She ran her fingers through the fur on the llama’s neck, who hummed at her in delight as she worked up to scratch the animal’s ears. “Okay, mama has to go.” She kissed Cherrie’s forehead and turned to Ferra, who opened the door to the town hall and bowed, insisting on mock chivalry.</p><p>“Ah, ladies first.”</p><p>“Oh, you are much too kind, sir gentleman.” They both giggled quietly as they passed through the light beige-colored hallway, white windows on the wall illuminating the corridor with rays of natural light which beat down on the blue carpet with golden designs, soft beneath their shoes. They made their way to a room on the left, a large conference room in a similar style to the hallway, where the council for the town convened. Before they entered, Emma stopped her friend in front of the seasoned wood door and took a deep breath, “Okay, no horsing around, playtime is over. Serious faces on, let’s get in and get out.”</p><p>Ferra nodded. “Sounds good and I agree. I’m just hungry honestly.” They opened the doors, quietly and carefully entering, their footsteps nearly silent as they stepped up to the desk of Rowan the Elder. All other seats in the room were empty. The last council meeting had adjourned; every day they set aside a break so that the elder would be able to convene with the stronghold members and relay to them the needs of the town. The council rarely addressed the guild directly, leaving the job for their leader whose judgement they trusted more than their own, especially since Rowan was more experienced with speaking to humans and was more in-touch with the world outside town limits. They stood in front of the desk, waiting to be addressed as he finished up whatever he was writing. It would be rude to interrupt him as he was writing the town record, and it was best to let him finish up whatever sentence he was still scribbling down and allowing him to initiate the conversation. Normally, his son, Hudson, would be here too, training to take over when the time came for him to shoulder the burden and responsibility of village leader. Today, he was absent. It happened.</p><p>Before he even looked up, he smiled and spoke, “You know, I never see one of you without the other.” The old man’s white-gray beard hung down off of his face, nearly into his lap as he sat hunched over his writing, with his face so close to the page that it was a wonder the hairs on his face didn’t smudge and ruin the ink. He returned the feather pen to its ink well, leaving the thick book open on the writing desk to allow the fresh letters to dry on the page, and removed his reading glasses. “Now, how are you girls?”</p><p>“Very well,” They replied, nearly in unison, surprising themselves. Maybe they really did just spend that much time around each other.</p><p>He clasped his hands together, “Ha! Your spirits must be twins. Anyhow, let me tell you what the recent activity has been like…” He reached under his desk and produced another leather-bound book; it was a report log, with complaints by villagers and illager-involved incidents neatly organized. The town had been plagued by an illager menace long before Emma had even been born, and it was, as of yet, unknown why or how they had been getting there and causing trouble. At least, in that town.</p><p>The war between illagers and villagers was ancient, but in the last thousand years had ended almost completely, with a very few small populations still remaining under control of the illager king, who reigned absently from highblock castle. Although the location of the castle was known, their force were seen as such a small threat to modern society that it was deemed useless to go after and invade them. Unfortunately, there seemed to be some populations that went after small, rural villages, and the Guild of the Shining Grail was formed to provide aid to these few villages and towns. It was entirely composed of humans; this was because villagers and illagers and humans all lived in harmony in societal hubs like Starlight City, and illager-villager conflict in particular was to be avoided at all costs. Having villagers in the Grail going directly against illager populations might cause old tensions to rise. Humans were generally neutral, though they were obviously slightly biased toward helping villagers, like the ones who lived right here in Red Oak.</p><p>“Here we are,” The old man broke the silence as he found the page. “Ah, this is very good. Few incidents have been had as of late; sparse sightings of patrols by the residents were reported, and we’ve had a farmer on the outskirts lose a cow and a few tools. That seems to be it, though.” He flipped through the next pages as though he was ensuring he had not missed any entries, but found them empty. “Well then, it seems you have all done a very nice job around here. Have my thanks, and a little something extra.” As he replaced the book in the cabinet of his desk, he swung around in the swivel chair and found the bag of emerald currency he always gifted the guild with. They had never asked for any of it, but it was a kind gesture by the people of the village as a symbol of their gratitude. When Ferra brought it back to the hold, Thomasin would distribute it evenly among the members. He placed it on the desk in front of them.</p><p>“We’re happy to hear that everything has been well, sir. And thank you very much for the gift,” Ferra thanked the old man, and both of them bowed slightly before she took the bag and tossed it into the back of her pack.</p><p>“Oh, and girls, please tell Thomasin I would like to see her next week, if she will like to be the one to come.” Emma agreed and the two turned to leave, exchanging a knowing look and grinning when they were confident Rowan could no longer see their faces. No one at the stronghold would <em> ever </em> mention it, but they were fairly certain Thomasin and Rowan had a little thing going. Perhaps they didn’t, and it was rude to speculate, but they couldn’t help giggling a bit on the inside whenever one mentioned the other. Thomasin was nearly as old as he, and she had been fighting for the Guild in this particular town since she was just a little older than Emma. She had known the previous leader, Rowan’s mother, and had convened with her in the same way all of the members did with the elder now. The cycle seemed to be never-ending, with the village growing more in recent years, attracting more activity, requiring more support; the stronghold members and village citizens were so familiar, and none remembered a time when they weren’t inextricably bound, like family in some respects. </p><p>Thinking on this, Emma thought of Needi, who was almost like a second sister to her, and suddenly remembered, with glee, that she and Ferra had a meal to catch at the cafe. “Hey,” she said to Ferra as they strolled back out onto the steps, “I got you a free lunch ticket for your favorite!” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, man, that was awesome. Can I please repay you for once? Tell me if you want me to buy you somethin’ pretty in the market,” Ferra thanked her. With their lunches sitting finished in front of them, they sat back for a minute and decided to relax for a little while and chat. “So, I was watching the news the other day,” she spoke before taking a swig of water from the bota bag hanging off her pack, “and the news guy was doing some story on infrastructure and traffic quotes and all that? Right? Guy’s last name was Roads.” They chuckled at the mild irony, watching passersby. They always thought of what the lives of all these people were like - they were so far outside of their own sphere of influence and every one of them had a unique past. It was wondrous. Despite the foot traffic passing by the cafe as they talked, the market itself was starting to wind down as the warm afternoon went on, and this was the prime time of the day where they could go and peacefully look around the stalls without feeling as if they were just bumbling around and bothering other people who were trying to get their stuff and get out.</p><p>Emma got up from her chair and thanked Needi profusely when she came by to take their dishes. She was tailed by Ferra, her hand trailing over the chipped paint of the banister as she stepped down off the white porch and skipped onto the cobblestone path leading through the town square. Leaving Cherrie tied next to her favorite patch of yellow and purple flowers, they strolled into the tented market, the shade sheltering them from the harsh light of the afternoon sun. “I saw something earlier I was kind of wanting to get, if the offer is still on the table,” she said to Ferra quietly, almost as if she were unsure if her request would come off as unreasonable. </p><p>“Sure hon, whatcha got in mind?” </p><p>“It’s over this way…” She led her friend through the winding paths around the stalls, pulling her by the arm as they traversed almost the entire market to get to one particular market table with a spread of colorful jewelry, hand-woven scarves and decorative fans with glittery sequins. She gingerly picked up one of the garbs as she let go of Ferra’s hand, feeling its almost silky finish under her fingers. It was dotted generously with gold flecks dancing around like stars, swirled in a pattern around equally shiny gilded decals of moon phases and planets, all set against a blush-pink background, with the silky, fine strands of fabric coming together at the ends, tied into golden tassels that glimmered in the honey-colored afternoon sunlight. </p><p>“Oh,” the shopkeep started as they noticed the girls, taking particular delight in Emma’s interest in the scarf, “so you’ve got an eye for that one, huh?” They smiled and strolled over, their wooden and gem-studded beads clicking together as their ring-covered hand reached for the scarf to feel it, playing up its quality to make the sale. Emma gripped it as if it was to be snatched from her if she let her guard down. “I thought you might like this one when you came ‘round earlier. It’s made of some fine cotton, very soft, and with real gold flakes. Would you like to buy it?”</p><p>Emma would have nodded furiously, except that she stopped herself and looked up to Ferra with puppy eyes. It was her money, after all, and ultimately her decision, not Emma’s, even when considering all the free lunches and other things she’d gotten for her over time. Her redheaded friend rolled her eyes, nudging her and chuckling, “Yeah, you earned it.” Ferra turned to the seller, who was nodding in approval, eager to sell them the beautiful garment. “How much is it, my friend?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s beautiful, but can I ask why you wanted to get a scarf <em> directly </em> before summer starts?” Emma had been wearing it the entire afternoon, hugging it close to her and rubbing her face on its soft surface, even though it was almost hot outside with the late-afternoon sun, which had been beating down relentlessly upon the landscape for the last few hours. She frowned and explained that it would have been gone by the time she would have gotten it in the winter, and there would never be another one like it. Ferra seemed almost halfway annoyed, but conceded that if she really liked it so much, she was glad she got it, because “At least someone’s work didn’t go to waste.” She looked at the ground, brow furrowed.</p><p>Emma knew what this mild outlash was about. Understanding, she sighed and placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder in comfort. “You’re right. No one’s work goes to waste. I promise.” Ferra smiled at her, and placed her hand on top of Emma’s, gripping it, grateful for her friend’s support. The both of them walked in silence for a few minutes, taking in their surroundings. The town was surrounded by trees for the most part, but opened out into the plains on one small edge, with rolling grass hills and thousands of wildflowers littering the land. The river that Emma passed over when venturing to her own camp flowed here too, providing water and some hydroelectric power for the town from the creaky water wheels that lazily turned while the flow pushed them forward. It wasn’t their main power source, but it did help reduce the electricity they had to buy from the city, who they had paid to run the lines into the far, far wilderness where they resided. The shadows of the trees loomed as afternoon had begun to subside into evening time; this was Ferra’s cue to go.</p><p>She and Emma walked near the forest edge after having grabbed Cherrie from the cafe entrance, where she had been snoozing for the past couple of hours. “It’s about that time,” Ferra sighed as she stared back into the ever-darkening, unlit path back home. “Hopefully I won’t have to use this thing.” From her pack, she pulled a night vision potion Emma had given to her earlier in the day in case it got dark and the lights were still fried. “But, it’s good to have it. I will be taking <em> this </em> little lady,” she said, gesturing to Cherrie, “back for you, but then I’m at the stronghold for the night. See you soon amiga!” They hugged and said their goodbyes as Emma prepared to take over for night guard duty, sending her companions off cheerfully as the sun began to fall into a lake of bright, swirling hues of pink, yellow and orange, offset by the lavender-blue backdrop which had drawn dark enough across the other half of the sky to reveal the first twinkling lights of the cosmos above. </p><p> </p><p>Most of the town had fallen silent as the empty dusk set in, lulling people and animals alike into slumber as the daylight faded. Save for the dull thud of patrolling iron golems and chittering crickets, Emma’s footsteps were the only sound that broke through the thick quiet of the night as she kept her eyes trained on the edges of the town, particularly out toward the plains where the livestock resided. It seemed like they came from there the most. <em> Bastards. </em> She didn’t really hate these “wild” illagers per se, and she knew it was just how they were raised to be, but by god could they stir the pot and put an entire village on edge when they got too close. What they actually did was minor and mischievous, but what they were capable of was horrific when they really wished to destroy these under-protected rural towns. She was on her toes as she gripped her bow tightly, poison-tipped arrows at her side.</p><p>“Hello, sweetberry,” a familiar voice crooned from behind her, startling her. If she had not immediately recognized his voice, Hyx would have been shot, and the arrow stuck in the building behind him. He leaned against the building, his blue trader robes with red and gold trim off and tied around his hips as one might do with a sweatshirt. He had only just returned from trading with travelers wandering along popular traffic routes, and had already settled his llamas in for the night. Pushing off of the building and walking toward Emma with open arms, he grabbed her up for a hug, resting his hands on her hips as he pulled away. “Oh, my, how pretty,” he cooed to her when he noticed her decorative scarf.</p><p>Emma giggled and kissed him on the cheek, flustered and still a bit on edge. “Thank you. Good to see you, Hyx, but please don’t give me starts like that; you almost got skewered.” he rolled his eyes and shook his head, grinning.</p><p>“If one of us gets impaled tonight, I promise it won’t be me~” </p><p>“Gross!”</p><p>The two chuckled and he raised a hand to her face to stroke her cheek, bringing her chin up so he could kiss her before he whispered in a low voice, “Might you be my company for a little while tonight? I won’t keep you long, doll.” She mulled it over for a moment, looking back to the small army of golems and figured that 15 minutes couldn’t hurt. Swinging around to pull him toward his home, she nodded and giggled, and the two eagerly trotted up the stairs and into the small house.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the night was entirely uneventful; no illager patrols presented themselves, no packs of the risen dead emerged from the woods, and the most notable thing to have happened was that a stray dog attached itself to her for a little while, following her as she made her rounds. She tossed to it a few pieces of her cold packed pork chop as she ate dinner on the hard stone steps of a well, and it too eventually grew tired and scampered off to doze wherever it had made its dwelling. It was usually a peaceful quiet that fell over the town at night, with the soft sounds of flowing river water trickling past the wooden wheels and the cascade of cicada calls from the tree tops being the only sounds to keep her company. The glow of street lamp lights lit the path dimly as iron golems brushed shoulders trying to tread the same routes at the same time. She remained away from the town center where they congregated, and tended more toward the darkened edges where danger lurked. As the dark became more and more pronounced later into the night, combined with the loneliness of the golem-less outskirts of town, her surroundings took on an almost eerie aura. At any moment it seemed that the banshee’s howl of a phantom would ring in her ears, but none ever came. The only unsettling noise was the occasional distant hissing of giant woodland spiders echoing from the trees. She never saw one, but she was already regretting having to walk back home - especially all the way to the stronghold. She wasn’t certain that her night vision potion would last long enough for her to get there all the way, but she was thinking, with the potion being long-lasting, that if she could walk there quickly enough, then reasonably she would at least be able to get close enough to see the lights surrounding the base of the mountain, and go from there before it wore off completely. </p><p><em> Aaron should be coming soon, right? </em>She raised her wrist and her watch flashed brightly when raised - 2:13 am. “Ah!” she exclaimed, turning on her heel swiftly and running as best as she could to the village center where all night watches met and exchanged duties - Aaron was already there, waiting patiently while keeping an eye out for her. He whipped his head around hearing her footsteps running toward him, raising his hand out for a high five as she reached him.</p><p>“Hey stranger, you don’t get paid for overtime, you know!” He gave her a victory handshake in the air as they made contact, pulling her in for a quick hug and patting her on the back. “Anything I should be aware of?” </p><p>She shook her head dismissively, “Not tonight, it’s just been kinda spooky. There’s a really cute dog around who might come and sniff you, but he ain’t scary. That’s about it.” </p><p>“Nice. Well, I can take it from here. See you whenever you come back by the ‘hold!”</p><p>“Sure will.” She reached back on her belt and lifted a small vial of potion out of the leather pouch on her hip. Raising it to her lips to drink, she winked and said, “Cheers,” walking away from the village as her eyes dilated and the sky suddenly shone like daylight.</p><p> </p><p>She reached the 3-pronged path, the trampled grass trail to her camp beckoning her, as if to say, <em> Come to me, and wait until the light of morning to travel further </em> . However, she wanted to have everything set up and ready to go, so that when she awoke the next day she would be able to start working without having to waste time preparing. Ignoring her instincts, which were urging her to just <em> go home and rest </em>, she pressed on with only half-confidence that she would be able to make her way through the woods before the potion’s effects ran out entirely. She kept track of her progress by taking note of landmarks; a rock with moss shaped like a heart; an old broken fence post; a mushroom circle - each gave her hope as she drew closer and closer to her goal. She could pick up another potion when she got there to bring her back to -</p><p> </p><p>The lights went out.</p><p> </p><p>Emma <em> panicked </em> . She desperately tried to calm herself as her breath grew quick, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just animals out here! A-and you can..you can feel the, the path with...your feet, oh God.” She was hyperventilating now, her hands shaking as she fanned her face and nervously bounced in place. No light shone through the woods. Not even the moon could lead her home - it was gone. <em> Where am I? Fuck. </em> In her flustered motion, she had become entirely disoriented. Unsure of the direction she was facing, she kept throwing her head back and forth, trying to get a visual on some kind of light, or maybe her eyes would adjust after a few minutes. When they didn’t, she was almost in tears. She was scared. If she got killed out here, sure, she would respawn, but it <em> hurt </em>, dying did. Regardless of the safety net, she thought of the prospect as terrifying, her eyes wide like those of a child presented with a needle at a doctor’s office. As a last ditch effort, she called out into the night, begging for help - perhaps someone in the stronghold was outside, and maybe she was close enough so that they could hear her.</p><p>She shouted, she waited.</p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p>She tried again, and silence. All hope seemed lost. She was certain something was going to kill her out here, and she put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the world as salty tears trailed down and tickled her nose. Maybe she should sit down and wait; if she kept still and quiet for the next few hours, maybe nothing would find her. She had faced terrible foes; she’d been shot at by pillagers and fought horrific walking corpses and magical bones resurrected back to life, with only connective tissue keeping their forms together. This, however? The still dark of the night, its loneliness creeping into her mind and leaving her to fend for herself against the ghostly forms of her imagination - this was her greatest fear, horrifying her beyond reason. As she stared at the ground at what she was pretty sure were her feet, a hand manifested itself on her shoulder, startling her out of her mind. She screamed and slapped at the touch, but as she turned around to face it, the being placed both hands on her shoulders, and she finally processed it - comfort. Wordlessly, they ran their hands down her arms to her limp hands, which they gently squeezed. She took a deep breath with her eyes closed, the feeling of another person brought back her senses and grasp on reality.</p><p><em> Reeves, </em> She thought, <em> yes! </em> In an instant, she had become excited! No wonder there had been no speech before the comforting touch - Reeves was mute, and could only sign. She might have heard him coming toward her in the wet, rustling leaves, except that she’d put her hands over her ears. She hugged him tightly, throwing her arms around his neck, uttering small “thank you”s over and over again, so grateful for his presence. Perhaps it was the dark, but Reeves felt taller than he should have been, somehow. And she couldn’t feel his long, curly hair, even with her arms wrapped around his neck. <em> Maybe he has it in a bun, maybe he’s standing on higher ground. How would I know? It’s dark! </em> she thought hopefully. Suddenly on edge again, she reached up his neck to feel the hair on the back of his head. His short, soft, fluffy hair, combed upward.</p><p>It wasn’t Reeves. Who had short hair? It couldn’t be Ah Kum - they had already left for their parents’ house with Kai. It certainly wasn’t Ronald, because he would have said something by now. Not Bonnie. Not Ferra. Not Aaron. Not Luana, Badr, Akio. No, no, no - they all would have spoken, said something, alerted her somehow! They wouldn’t be silently standing, their arms in front of them in confusion, hesitant to reciprocate her hug. She had no idea who was out with her in the woods, nor of their intention.</p><p>She squeezed tighter, shaking, desperate to latch onto the idea that it was someone she recognized, but she knew, and asked with a trembling voice, “Who are you?”</p><p>The person was silent, but patted her back softly. Finally, another voice emerged from the silence; “My name is Jakob.” It was gravelly, as if he’d been holding his breath, or speaking for the first time in days, with an accent she could only place as hick, from some kind of backwater country type of place. There was only one kind of place like that where people lived that could have existed around here. She became afraid.</p><p>“Are you going to hurt me?” </p><p>“Never.” His response was so immediate and reactionary she almost jumped, but he placed his chin on her head and stroked her hair gently before restating it, softer this time, “Never.” His heartbeat could be heard with her head against his chest, pounding as hard and fast as hers. He must have been some kind of panicked, too. Nervousness was an emotion that ran cold and hard in the night, and sunk its sharp nails into the jugular of every person in the night. Even them, apparently. Finally, as she turned her head upward, she caught the first glimpse of light she’d been able to see in the darkness - his eyes glinted back at her as if a shining light was being reflected like one might see in an animal. Where such a source was coming from, she could not tell, but they were a glowing green so similar to hers, she might have mistaken it for a mirror in any other context. </p><p>Snapping out of her trance, she shook her head and remembered her objective: get home. She looked up again and, pulling her arms back to her chest and clasping them, asked, “Can you help me get to the mountain? The one with the lights all around it. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>They walked through the forest in total silence, with Jakob jutting his arm out from his side for her to hold onto, keeping her from tripping and falling onto the forest floor. Occasionally, they would hear a deer scamper into the wilderness, spooked by their presence, and Emma would shuffle a bit closer to him as she held on, praying that this stranger meant well and was leading her home. It was impossible to trust him or distrust him yet; she still did not know who he was, where he was from, why he was here - hell, <em> what </em> he was. Perhaps it was another figment of her frightened mind, guiding her by some subconscious directional instinct, and she was, in reality, walking alone upon the dirty, rocky path. But no, she rationalized, this stranger in the woods, Jakob, was a real person aiding her in a time of desperate need. </p><p>And finally, the woods released them. In the distance, warm lanterns lit the figures of iron golems patrolling the base of the mountain. <em> Home! </em> She almost ran toward the orange glow when she saw the stone staircase littered with lamplit flora, but as she started forward, she stopped herself abruptly, and realized she had briefly forgotten the strange man that had helped her back here. Though they were at the forest line, they were still not illuminated by the comforting lights, and she did not see him as she turned, except for the two dots of bright light staring straight ahead. Somehow, he seemed almost worried.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but this is as far as I can take you. Goodbye.” He let down his elbow and turned to begin swiftly walking away before she could even process the action. When she understood he was leaving, and quickly, she grabbed out to try and stop him, managing to latch onto his hand.</p><p>“Wait!” She exclaimed, not willing to allow him to give her the slip so easily.</p><p>He stopped, and slowly he came back to face her, almost ominously. This was contrasted entirely by his soft, easy whisper of “Yes?” in reply.</p><p>“My name is Emma. Thank you.” She squeezed his hand before repeating herself, to make certain that he knew she appreciated his help. “Thank you.”</p><p>He gave her a gentle handshake. “You’re welcome, miss Emma.” With that, she allowed him to pull away, his tug almost reluctant, and he walked off into the woods - into unknown places.</p><p>The iron golems of the base nodded to Emma as if to welcome her home, still keeping watch, and she steadied herself with her hand on the stone wall upon the first steps of the climb. As she ascended the stairs, she gazed back out into the night and waved into the darkness, hopeful to find two green pinpricks in the night. </p><p>And she saw nothing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The first chapter was kinda needlessly long and I tried to make this chapter a little more succinct without losing any of the content I really wanted to be in it. I also tried to trim out the fat that comes from useless description like I did several times in the first chapter! Anyways, if you're reading this, thanks so much for your time</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This walk never gets shorter, does it boys?” The tallest of them mused aloud, and several of the pack nodded in agreement, silently and wearily following their leader as they trekked over the flattened knolls of the plains, the thick grass visibly rolling in the wind. The dawn was rising ever so slowly, and enough light now shone into the fading night sky to dull the shining stars that had rhythmically littered the open cosmos. With a gust of the unrelenting plains wind, dust blew up in Jakob’s face as they reached the steep hillocks nipping at the farthest edges of the town; these mounds were intentionally built at least a hundred years before to keep people away. People like them. </p><p>Jackson led their troop. A vindicator with a grip on his role as strong as on his axe, he was an excellent chief to their party, but an even better sadist with a merciless philosophy. All bit their tongue, but most members of the outpost, and even some at the Mansion harbored ill feelings toward him in some way or another. Only his skilled fighting and empty charm kept him socially afloat; he was favored by higher-ups in the chain of command. It was best to just make nice. They tended to agree with him, but Jakob and the others didn’t exactly enthusiastically jump at his every comment or offer. Except for Johnny.</p><p>Jakob’s beloved little brother was attached to Jackson at the hip, shadowing him at all times and mimicking him down to his dress and hairstyle. It was almost as if Jackson had stamped the image of himself onto Johnny, except that the latter was shorter, and slightly nicer. Well, perhaps the uniform he couldn’t help, but he had adopted his crude and cruel sense of humor and even picked up little verbal quirks from him. There was just enough of <em> him </em> left that he was recognizable as family, but Jakob didn’t want to say anything to upset him and risk losing what was left of their brotherhood. Though they were separated by no more than 2 years, he had helped to raise him; he and his older brother Jeremiah were always left to babysit a young Johnny whenever their fathers left to go and run patrols or whatever else it was they did as higher-ups. Now, what was it for? Jackson had ripped away all that bond in just a few short years. However, Jakob chose to push his own conflicted feelings to the wayside and opted not to question how his little brother wished to live or why. The grass was wet and dewy under his boots, and he almost slipped before realizing he’d been staring down toward their steel toes, having zoned out. He became aware again as a different voice found itself singing along the breeze.</p><p>“Ain’t so bad with friends,” Johnny chirped, eager to please. Some rolled their eyes, trailing behind the two so they wouldn’t see. Even Jackson’s older brother James shook his head.</p><p>“I wouldn’t know.” As Jackson retorted sarcastically, he glanced down to Johnny, who almost seemed hurt, timid as a dog with its tail tucked, and whose face was hot from embarrassment. “Come on, Jon, you know I like to kid ya.” He slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders and side-hugged him, but it read more like a choke hold than a gesture of affection. Moments like this seemed almost purposefully constructed, with Jackson asserting his control and then comforting Johnny to intentionally manipulate him. Most thought of it as casual banter. Jakob saw right through it. He’d only ever mentioned it to Max, his childhood best friend, who had come with him as they eagerly scrambled to sign up for the same outpost as young teenagers; the same one they resided at now. </p><p>Max secretly seethed at Jackson, with a genuine hatred for him unlike anyone else Jakob knew of, and he had no idea why, though he felt no need to ask. He seemed to be fine and on good terms with the vindicator when he first ported in as an apprentice alongside Jakob’s uncle William, joining, and eventually leading, their outpost, but it just seemed that their relationship spontaneously soured one day. He never told Jakob why, but he assumed it was some personal business it was best not to be involved in. Illagers tended to be like this; they avoided everyone else’s personal troubles at all costs, and although it led to many questionable situations, anything that happened behind closed doors tended to stay there. Whatever had occurred between them, Max only listened to orders and never interacted with him outside of that, generally preferring the company of his other peers or watching over his assignment. Jakob tended to agree. Oftentimes, though, Emma would be in the village in the daytime, making observing her safely a difficult task.  </p><p>Speaking of which, they approached the fenced in edge of the farmers’ ranch. The fields were far off, but a figure could be seen working them in the wee hours of the morning as the group rounded one of the storage outbuildings nearer the plains edge of the property. The patrol looked to Jackson as he let go a smirk and a snort-laugh, “Hey, watch this.” They didn’t even try to argue against his more dangerous antics anymore, and none breathed a word as he slid over the short fence and picked up a small stone, no bigger than could fit in his closed fist. His battle axe clattered against the wood fence, causing it to wobble and creak as he banged the blunt end against the old, seasoned wood. The farmer’s head shot up from their work, and they stood up using their hoe like an old man might a cane. The figure was a little more clear now; hobbling toward them was an experienced older farmer whose white beard hung nearly to his chest. The others hesitated and hung back as Jackson stepped forward. This particular man was not to be trifled with; he was afraid of nothing, having survived his whole life out in these fields and woods, harassed and attacked and beaten to hell, and despite his age, he still talked a tough game. Talked.</p><p>“Son!” He yelled across the ever-closing distance between him and Jackson, “I suggest you get the hell away from this place and stay that way before I get to you.” His bluff had been called before he’d uttered a word, and neither of them backed down.</p><p>“Don’t worry big man,” he teased the skinny old farmer, “you won’t make it that far.”</p><p>Nelson, an older pillager in the group, almost tore over the fence at Jackson’s retort. They really could not afford a direct conflict right now - or worse, <em> killing </em> one of the villagers. Not because they were morally against it, but if they were going to be monitoring their assignments and planning a raid, they couldn’t have the entire village, and, in turn, the humans, on high alert and building up their defenses. “Jackson, asshole, I get you’re in charge but we have a lot more important shit to do. Stop torturing the locals and let’s go.” Nelson hissed and waved, beckoning him back over, but with his other hand he kept an iron grip on the cracked, splintery wood of the gate, ready to hop over if need be.</p><p>Jackson turned to protest, but realized there might be some degree of wisdom in the older man’s words, and he acquiesced. Still, he was mildly angered by the suggestion that his leadership was inadequate. Walking toward the fence, he spoke in a low but irritated voice, “I am only stopping because it’s the best move in the long run, <em> not </em> because you told me to.” As he straddled the wood post in getting back over, the old man gleefully hurled insults directed at the illagers. No one cared. </p><p>“...<em> and </em> look at you runnin’, bein’ an idiot <b>coward</b>, boy!” The leading vindicator snapped, slinging the rock at the old man from the fence. It thunked hard as it struck against the wooden handle of the hoe, right next to the old villager’s head, close enough for him to feel the wind off it. He was silent. Turning on his heel, he wordlessly old-man-limped as quickly as he could back toward his field home for help, while Jackson cackled as his feet finally met the ground again.</p><p>“See? They’re still scared. No ball on these guys.” He stretched and sighed contentedly as he gestured toward the still-dark tree line, grinning at the others, who appeared desperate to escape his presence “Arright, let’s get the fuck outta here.”</p><p> </p><p>The group split up as they walked, branching off onto different memorized paths toward where their assignments usually hung around, so they could gather information and discover more about them. Although most went on alone, Jakob was tailed by Jackson and Johnny; Emma’s camp was on the way to Ferra’s - Jackson was assigned to her - and hers was close enough to Akio’s daily living and working space that Johnny utilized it as an excuse to linger by Jackson’s side as long as possible. Jakob had never actually witnessed them part whenever they outed for the week; it was entirely plausible that their absence was spent together after he departed for Emma’s clearing, and that Jackson never even really watched his assignment. It would be typical of their leader. Jakob was pretty certain Jackson only knew his assignment’s name because Jakob had heard Emma mention it in passing when she and the redhead were talking to each other. He delighted in their banter, but Jackson would ruin that enjoyment with ceaseless rude comments about them if he and Jakob ever did manage to run into each other when their assignments met up. Thankfully, their interaction while in the woods was mostly limited to walking to the village together, and visiting each other’s camps was a rare occurrence; he surmised that Emma and Ferra’s nigh-unbreakable bond was forged from time spent together at the stronghold and village rather than out here.</p><p>Emma spent most of her time at her camp conducting experiments or following already-set recipes to produce all types of potions and powders with intense magical properties. The monitor and assignment tended to match each other, but with her sudden arrival, they needed someone quickly and did not discriminate or screen for the best fit. The choice had been between him and Robert on account of their assignments being essentially glued to each other, and the responsibility of monitoring each could easily be consolidated to one member of the outpost. Robert had been working with his assignment for much longer than Jakob, and the younger volunteered to switch roles. As it turned out, her skills struck very close to home for him - he had once been through a small degree of alchemical training when he was younger and had aspired to become an Evoker like his father. He had only a faint idea of most of her work, but wrote what he could manage to understand about her innovations. This was surprisingly useful. Within the last year, with help from his father, their entire mansion was able to phase out the need for large volumes of liquid potion and now most effects were achieved with far more concentrated syrups and even dry, dissolvable tablets that were easily able to be carried. </p><p><em> Oh, yeah, gotta take that right about now. </em> He had been so engrossed in thought and staring at the forest canopy that he had almost passed over the most crucial step of the routine; their invisibility tablets were their best defense against detection, allowing them to spy for much longer than the large bottled potions - and they tasted less terrible, too. It really wasn’t a huge deal if they got caught and killed; not only did they carry totems and play dead until they could get away, and if worse came to worst, his father could resurrect them. It did still leave some scars depending on how quickly everything was taken care of. Humans could be so violent, and did not react as predictably as villagers, who, with the exception of an occasional verbal protest, consistently fled in terror at the sight of them. Some humans’ reactions were more visceral than others, but some hesitated, allowing them to leave if they wanted to, before trying to engage in a fight. He had once had an experience, somewhat foggy to him now, of once stumbling into a society established far, far outside his homeland, wherein humans and villagers, and <em> illagers </em> lived without violent conflict, and some had even treated him well. It seemed more like a dream these days. Shaking off the thought and unlatching his waterproof leather pouch, he produced a tab no larger than a sweetberry and quickly placed it under his tongue, allowing it to dissolve. The other two took note, but chose to wait until they were further into the “danger zone” before taking the necessary precautions. “I would warn against that, but knock yourselves out,” he disapproved.</p><p>“Oh shut it. Jackson and I know what we’re doing.” Johnny’s words stung him. It wasn’t that he expected him to listen, but having him react so strongly just made it seem as though they weren’t even on friendly terms sometimes. “Besides, you don’t even need to worry so much if she ever did catch you watchin’. You could take her!” He paused. Not content without a verbal approval from Jackson, he continued, “And look at me, my guy is <em> huge </em> ! <em> You </em> ain’t even in actual danger, yours is so easy; meanwhile I’m bein’ brave over here and risking my friggin’ life-” </p><p>Jakob cringed, wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, but opted to just silently sigh to himself as Johnny’s tone went sour and he readied himself for the incoming insult. <em> And here we go. </em></p><p>“- you know, sometimes I just think we should switch and maybe you’d toughen up and learn to stop being such a puss.” Jackson snickered at his last comment, and Jakob thanked whatever magical mechanism managed to fade away his form as he felt his face flush hot and dark with irritation, and he bit his bottom lip to keep himself from retaliating. He had never so much as raised a hand to his little brother, and he certainly never planned on hurting him physically or emotionally, but lately it had become much, <em> much </em> easier to consider it. He brewed.</p><p>“Nah, nah, Johnny, you gotta watch the big guy,” Jackson reinforced the younger vindicator’s ego while wrapping his arm around his shoulder, axe in hand, “See, you’re all squirrely and sneaky; that asshole wouldn’t be able to catch you if he tried! You’re perfect for it.” He nudged him in the center of his back in approval. The pair continued their self-serving chatter as Jakob tuned them out, desperately hoping that time would accelerate so he could split before he said anything and risked pissing off either of them.</p><p> </p><p>He took off as soon as he came upon his landmarker: two rocks stacked in an odd fashion with a scrap of pink weathered fabric stuck between them. Pink had been his choice for Emma - although most of her clothes were some fashion of yellow; her braided blonde hair ended in soft pink tips, and whenever he saw that pink hue, it reminded him of her. He wondered if the color was natural on humans. </p><p>Spring had sent the world many gifts, like the bright green stems sprouting from the tips of bushes and treetops before him, some terminating in bright buds and blossoms. As a child he’d made many a crown and weave of flowers of different patterns. Usually, he and his peers would create the accessories and promptly tear them to pieces as a kind of catharsis; it was encouraged by elders if perhaps only to instill a certain level of brutality and hard-heartedness that would prove essential for their social survival at a later stage in life. It seemed so unfair to permanently destroy such beautiful and gentle things, who were simply radiating color and life to bring joy to the world. It would be more appropriate, he thought, for them to meet their ends as gifts.</p><p>But he supposed they were just flowers, after all.</p><p>As he passed a bush, he ran his hand through the petals and hard buds, daring to pluck one off of its stem and absentmindedly fidget with it in his fingers. He almost felt bad tossing it aside - what right had he to take and to waste its existence? The notion was difficult to brush off, but trudging forward through the stomped-down scrub of the woodland floor, he managed to convince himself to forget it entirely. He was supposed to be hardened; they were supposed to be a people of little empathy for all that was not them, or, at least, this was a lesson he had understood from the teachings of his kin. They were obligated to serve themselves as individuals first, and then to aid each other, and they deferred to or sacrificed for none outside of this ingroup. It was their own bubble. Occasionally, upon seeing the humans’ and villagers’ lively and loving ways of life and their taking comfort in one another, it was a bubble - no, a barrier - he desperately wished to dismantle. </p><p>Although, sometimes he suspected he wasn’t the first one. Max constantly chittered about his assignment - a girl named Bonnie. He knew Bonnie almost as well as Ferra - she and Emma would also visit each other at their respective encampments sometimes. As an armor-worker, the girl was less concerned with the whole “killing and violently defending the people with weapons” aspect of her position, and like Emma, observed a more friendly and accepting approach concerning illagers, and thought they were simply misunderstood and bitter through some kind of ancient injustice. <em> As if, </em> he thought. They were just as brutal and backwards as the older humans seemed to think of them. But this odd leniency seemed to have drawn the two girls together, regardless of how flawed their viewpoints might be. From the beginning, Max had adored her - from her pastel aesthetic to her lack of bias against them, he never had a bad thing to say when it came to her. Sometimes, he even outright praised his assignment. As if he were in love from afar. He shook off that thought, too. <em> Ha! Max? In love with a human? That’d be a riot. </em> But if it were true, then he -</p><p>He had reached the clearing without realizing it. His feet froze to the dew below as he prayed he hadn’t made any noticeable noise, but even if he had, he would not be visible. The strange alchemy had taken its effect in full. He inched along silently, scanning for movement in the camp as he drew closer, spying nothing, until finally he stepped foot onto the tree root and hauled himself up the branches onto the barely-visible platform of a hunter’s blind; it was a well-hidden structure to any who didn’t know to look for it. After clawing his way to the very top, he set down his bag and bow and, one final time, gazed out into the clearing for movement. The sturdy tent at the edge of the property stirred, and the rough beige canvas flew up from the entrance it sealed as a boot kicked at it once, sharply, allowing a much-encumbered figure to escape its clutches as she hauled several large boxes out of the structure all at once and hurried over to the table scattered with devices, glasses, and substances of all kinds. </p><p>It seemed Jakob had gotten lucky. She must have woken up some time before and begun preparation for the day’s work, and he’d made his entrance at such a moment that she missed him entirely. Now, the problem lay with getting <em> down </em> without her noticing. However, with such confidence as he had after repeating this routine for nearly a full year, he simply jumped back to the forest floor below, leaving his items sprawled on the platform high above. His boots were something else, specially crafted for mobility and sound suppression, and they allowed him to fall just about however far he pleased without a hint of harm tormenting him. With this, he crept ever closer toward the main event. As Emma scuttled back to her tent once again, the bags she’d dropped hastily piqued his curiosity, and slowly, he moved aside the top of one of the sacks, finding oddly warm, crystalline rods whose visages ever-shifted between warm, fiery colors. The fuel. He cracked a smile and shook his head, wishing he could have chuckled out loud; for the last several weeks she had been mentioning to her peers that she’d been meaning to pick some up, and he’d watched her supply crumble down to one last stick, and not but a few days before he had witnessed her hold this last crystal to the sky in some kind of prayer and sigh before loudly proclaiming, “If this isn’t enough to heat up this last batch and the process reverses I will personally horse kick your ass.” For a moment it seemed as if she were talking to him instead of her apparent strange deity. He’d been so taken aback by the unexpected hilarity that he’d doubled over and nearly fell to his knees, silently reeling in laughter, and it was one of those times where he was certain he would blow his cover and cackle until he cried. Humans were such <em> hilarious </em> creatures when caught at their best. He didn’t know how he was supposed to hate her.</p><p>The rods chimed delightfully as he ran his fingertips across their surfaces. Sensing a stirring to his left, however, he backed away as Emma once more hurried in his direction to finally unload the last of her supplies. She unpacked wonders one after another, some of which he had been familiarized with, but then there came a few that he had never seen. First there came a kind of thin, leathery sheet, dried and shriveled, tucked away like leaves in a little paper tea box. Even standing at the far end of the table from her, he could smell the ghastly things, which stank like dead fish and dry bones, and to his horror, she had grabbed a pot with water, tossed two of the little mystery stench bombs into it, and allowed it to heat over the newly-fueled burner. <em> Just please don’t drink it, </em> he thought as they steeped and she tended to the rest of her mess, <em> I will never be able to look at you the same way again. </em> </p><p>Finally, satisfied with her sorting, Emma began distilling the standard base of most of her potions - a simple solution of water with the essence of a red fungus, which she had only ever referred to as “wart” in her notes, and pour the solution into a kind of titration contraption affixed with a thin metal rod acting as a drip spigot, which would allow her to drip the solution slowly into a container below. However, this time, instead of having a different ingredient waiting in the receptacle at the bottom of the device, he witnessed her pull the now-hydrated membranes taught across a kind of strainer, she placed it under the spigot. He realized now that whatever this new ingredient was, it must act as some kind of strainer, although what it might filter out was a mystery to him. </p><p>He had been so entranced by this new experiment of hers that he’d almost forgotten to keep his distance, having been drawn closer by curiosity, and he nearly bumped her as she swiftly turned and grabbed her notebook from directly in front of him. He nearly fainted from fright. Luckily he was still aware enough to make not a sound as she scribbled in a diagram followed by words, a list, exclamation points, all with excitement as she observed this new phenomenon. After a moment, he finally realized it, too - after being passed through the membrane, the drops of the liquid potion themselves had a strange, shimmery property, and fell somehow awkwardly into the bottom jar. They did not splash as if they were regular water droplets, but somehow did not seem to adhere to gravity, splashing to the bottom with a much lower velocity than normal water. They fell slowly.</p><p>“If I’m right - !” Emma thought aloud, interrupting his focus, and he listened to her intently, hanging on every word. “Oh, oh! If I’m right we might as well be flying after this. Goodbye synthetic Elytras, and hello life-saving antigravity potion! Or...” She seemed to think the term sounded a bit too technical. Musing, she kept trying to name it in her book rather than focusing on the reaction taking place. “Antigravity potion, no - falling from heights potion? Weird. And long. Okay, cliff potion, mountain potion. Potion for anti-falling…” The brewbottle below had filled to the top, yet the drip continued as she turned her back, negligent to the burnplate she had left active just to the left of the thing. “Potion of not falling. Falling slowly. I guess that would do for a placeholder.” Jakob looked to her, to the ever-overflowing bottle, and back to her, desperately wishing to intervene. It would not be the first time she’d gotten so comfortable and confident in her work ability that for a moment, she turned her back, but for his brief time understanding her art, he already knew that the first rule of alchemy was never to turn your attention away from an active experiment. Though it was risky, and thinking she might very well look back at the very moment he would be adjusting the setup, he swiped one of the glass bottles to the right and carefully moved the first bottle away, immediately settling the second, empty bottle below the drip. Quickly backing away, he hoped she might simply think she did it and had forgotten, or wouldn’t notice at all.</p><p>Perhaps she was a bit reckless, but the girl wasn’t stupid. When she looked back and the new bottle sat where she had left the first, she gasped, primarily at the fact that the bottles had inexplicably traded places in her absence, and then at the small flame that appeared when the run-off from the overflowing first bottle met the still-hot burner. Regretting her negligence, she rushed to flick the switch on the burner and frantically planted it coil-first into the sandy ground beneath the workstation to quash the flames. Seemingly more inconvenienced then worried, she tended to the rest of the spill, exasperatedly sighing “Okay, I get it, you are <em> not </em> fire-retardant,” as if talking to the mixture. Though her annoyance at the almost-fire faded as quickly as it had risen, and once again she stared horrified at the second bottle, now half-full as nearly all of the solution had been passed through the membrane. She glanced around the camp. “Ferra? Bonnie? Are you two out here playing tricks on me? Quit it!” </p><p>Jakob stood stock-still. <em> Shit. </em></p><p>At the lack of response, Emma shook her head, plugging the first full bottle. “I swear I didn’t move this, did I? Maybe I’m going insane.” He felt a bit miserable at that last comment; he was only trying to discreetly help her, not gaslight her into doubting her own ability. Then, to his confusion, she cracked a wide grin and snickered. “Heh, I suppose I have a ghost. Or a guardian angel. In which case, thank you. I realize how that could have gone…” Never had Jakob known a soul to talk to themselves aloud as much as she had in the time he’d known her. If Max offhandedly chattered this much while they were working together, he might have just had to slap him.</p><p>But with Emma, it felt...<em> different </em> . Or, perhaps at first it had annoyed him. He’d had some preconceived notions regarding humans not only from the teachings of his elders, but after observing his previous assignment as well. Again, most humans that they came across viewed villagers as perfect cherubs while illagers were met with vitriol, and he had thought the same rhetoric would apply to her. He harbored no hate, but had no soft spot for her either, distancing himself emotionally - and physically, on account of their still using low-quality liquid potion to conduct monitoring at the time. As time went on and he listened from afar, he’d learned of her lack of hatred - no, <em> affinity </em> , for illagers. Once he’d caught her speaking to her flowers, cooing, “If only we could be friends, if only they could hear me, if only…” and so on. At first, he thought she was referring to the plants, but discovered that she was talking <em> to </em> them. About illagers. </p><p>From there, as her work was exploited and their transparent charade became longer-lasting, he was able to get close enough, even in the daytime, to observe what life was like for her. He found that she was charming, fun, smart, and generous, and she had friends, and family. Just like them. In some sense, it had developed into a one-sided friendship, and rather than despise or feel indifferent toward her, he found himself wishing he could step out from the shroud, introduce himself, <em> make a genuine friend </em> out of someone he was supposed to hate, prove to everyone back home that the world has changed, and that <em> they </em> could change, too.</p><p>What wishful, airheaded, useless thinking. Jakob thought too much, and in the opinion of Jackson and Johnny, did much too little. They seethed at his successful copying of invaluable formulas which he’d brought to his father to make sense out of, and the praise he’d received as a result. Nothing - the love, the jealousy, none of it meant anything to him so long as they lived isolated as they were, when he had the evidence that there was a whole new beautiful world out there standing in front of him. If he ever said anything, though? It would destroy his fathers, who had worked so hard to raise him, and prove to Johnny that Jackson was right. The conflict tugged at his heart as he watched Emma cap one of the formulae, while she poured a portion of the second into a beaker with glee. She ran to a tree at the opposite edge of the woods, chugged the essence, and scrambled up the branches as quickly as she could. He nearly gagged witnessing her actually drinking that, but it didn’t seem to phase her in the least, and as she reached one of the largest upper branches, she pushed off of the trunk and flung herself from it.</p><p><em> Are you fucking crazy?! </em> He started running toward her instinctively, as if ready to catch her, but before he made it halfway across the camp he bore witness to the full effect of the potion and was halted in his tracks. She giggled, almost suspended in air, and was lowered down to the ground as gently as if a giant hand was letting her down from the clouds, raising her fists in victory as her shoes met the soil. Her next steps would be to refine the process and show Thomasin her breakthrough the next time she went back to the stronghold. She had, for lack of better phrasing, reached new heights as far as her experiments went. Jakob, however, stood open in the middle of the clearing, cloaked under the cover of magic, but feeling very much exposed. Moreover, he felt embarrassed, and chided himself for nearly blowing cover for the second time in the same hour over nothing. Perhaps he should have placed more confidence in her. </p><p> </p><p>Relatively speaking, the rest of the day proceeded uneventfully. Jakob even became bored as Emma repeatedly distilled, titrated, and tried to condense the potion. She’d tried to reduce it by boiling, but it evaporated off instead of becoming a syrup or a salt, so she tried using more ingredients and less water, but the waste was so high that it wasn’t financially feasible. Finally, deflated, she huffed and gave up, angrily slamming down the top on a crate she’d decided to store the bottles in, and gave herself a break, leaving it to be a project to continue the next day. In the meantime, she went back to simple gardening tasks, watering and weeding and pruning, and Jakob realized that this was probably the time to quit standing around waiting for something to happen. He scaled his tree again, grabbed his field notes, and prepared to capture Emma’s scribbled ramblings within it. Carefully, making sure her workstation was well out of sight, he flipped open her book and worked quickly to re-create her diagrams, notes, and for good measure, he grabbed one of the stinking dried ingredients out of the wood box on the table. As soon as the last word left his pen, he scrammed.</p><p>Later into the night, the dusk painted the sky a desaturated purple, with the bottoms of clouds reflecting red back from the setting sun on the other side of the valley. He gazed back down at the camp from his perch, and saw a warm, bright fire with a figure hunched over it. He wished that she would just sleep already, so that he might be able to steal a few minutes of its warmth while it still smoldered. His notebook and pen sat at the bottom of the sack lazily hanging from a branch above him, containing all of her hard-earned marvels and mysteries. But with how absolutely defeated she had seemed earlier, he realized he almost felt terrible exploiting all her hard work, allowing her alone to go through the trials and tribulations while he and his kin saw only its stolen fruits, all just for it to be used against her. That’s all he felt he ever did, really - steal. If Karma was real, he was sure it would come to haunt him. Or perhaps the guilt on his conscience was punishment enough. </p><p>Eventually, Emma rose from her spot at the fire, stretching contentedly after the full day’s work, and without further incident, retired to her tent for the night. Yet, as the night fell sharper, Jakob found himself restless, and hungry. He had neglected to catalogue the day’s events, so he swiped his bag to take with him to the fireside before jumping from the platform again. </p><p>Sitting on a log, he wrote almost cathartically, gnawing on a piece of salted, jerkied meat with the warmth of the low fire spreading across his face as he recounted the day. The log book was supposed to be shown to Jackson at the end of every week, to prove the men of the outpost did anything worthwhile, but because the vindicator was lazy and impatient, he never did check them, so Jakob treated his logbook as somewhat of a diary. As long as the pages had visible writing, no one but him would ever actually read them. Sometimes all he snuck in was a snarky and childish “Jackson is a jackASS” in small writing in between sentences, but sometimes he went into longer details about his thoughts and emotions, paying special attention to the new ways humans made him think and feel, and evaluating the worth of these new discoveries. He took a swig of water from his leather canteen after jotting down the last few sentences and concluding notes, sighing as the flames before him turned to smoldering ash. </p><p>The day had flashed before him all too quickly, and despite it not being much of a late hour and his inability to rest just a short while before, he suddenly found himself sleepy. Shoving his belongings back into the bag haphazardly, he yawned as he got up and began to stride back to his lookout platform for the final time today. He would have passed her tent on his way, but slowed down until he came to a stop at its entrance. His invisibility was gone by now. This might be the only time he ever got the courage to say hello, and he knew it. After he'd helped her through the woods at night the week prior, she already knew his name, but this could have been just the right moment to tell her who he really was, to confess everything, and to break down the barrier between them. Without him even realizing, he had already pinched the edge of the flap of the tent, but suddenly he became acutely aware, in horror, of the cost of these potential actions. Jakob tore his hand away and stumbled backward as if the tent had been made of red-hot steel that seared his very soul. <em> What if she saw me? </em> Not taking a moment to gather himself, he sprinted to the tree line, disappearing up into the gnarled branches of his post before he had the chance to be so bold and stupid again.</p><p>He was still panting in a panic even as he sat at the top shaking his head in disbelief. Somehow, it was exhilarating as much as it was terrifying, and he let one cough of a laugh escape him, running his hand through his hair. This job was starting to get to him. Emma did not come bursting out of the tent screaming, nor did he spot any sign of a stir in or near it at all. She was asleep, then. Trying to shake off the anxiety, he sat with his back against the trunk of the tree, using a torn-up leather jacket as a cover, and his racing mind once again dominated his consciousness as he tried to doze off. He wondered, what did she think of when she went to sleep? Her work? Pets? Might a funny memory lull her to sleep, or does she end the day so exhausted that there’s not a moment to think before her head hits the pillow and she’s out? He smiled. He wondered if she was going to go back and disappear for a while like Robert’s assignments had when visiting family. He wondered what her family was like. What she would think of his. Maybe when she went to sleep, she thought of them, or her friends, or that trader who she’d hole up with every so often when at the village. He almost found himself a little jealous at that thought, no matter how clear they’d always made it that they were just each other’s playthings. He wondered if she ever wanted someone to love. If someone like her would ever go for someone like him.</p><p><em> Dumbass, quit dreaming, </em> he chastised himself, <em> go to sleep. </em></p>
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